No Need for Words
by zhyndia k
Summary: Trowa's away from Quatre, and he's thinking if he should go back. (I'm bad at summaries...) m/m, but no sex. Please R/R


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No need for words  
  
A Gundam Wing fanfiction  
  
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Disclaim: G Wing characters, and some lyrics. Please R/R  
  
It was a silent apartment, to say the least. It was also a painfully neat one, as if whoever arranged it had a need for almost military precision. Even the photographs scattered on the glass-topped table was spread over it in a fanning placement, precisely spaced to show certain aspects of the pictures, a certain something that was there in all of them. The whitewashed walls were bare but for a set of three framed prints, the lone swan in flight at both ends seeming to be part of the large arc of flying fowl in the middle. No portraits, no identifying marks in a sterile room, but for the pictures on the table, and the brown coat folded over the back of a straight teak chair. Even the houseplants by the window and living room set thrived at the precision, with their leaves drooping precisely so, just enough to convey the impression of a soldier in parade rest.  
  
There were no real partitions, no walls, with the bath as the only exception. Even the bed was only separate from the rest of the apartment by being in an elevated position. The bed was neat, for one person, with thick navy blankets for the coming cold nights. The lights of the room were attached on a metal grillwork hanging from the ceiling, similar to those in theatrical productions. Everything was in simple lines, austere even. It appeared out of place in the elaborately furnished, comfortable block of apartments it was situated with.  
  
The pictures were snapshots, snapshots of a circus troupe always on the move, snapshots of young men beside giant mechas, snapshots of a golden haired young man smiling at the photographer. A pretty young man, with brilliant blue green eyes that shifted color, sometimes reminding him of a clear spring sky, sometimes of the sea, and always a smile reserved for all. Most of the pictures involved him, frolicking around, posing, and sometimes resting with his eyes away from the viewer. It was obvious the owner of the apartment was fond of this person, why else would there be so many pictures of him?  
  
The owner of the coat was curled up on the window seat, watching the sea of umbrellas under him. It was raining. The umbrellas seemed to be a collective wave, moving in one way, then switching to another. Sometimes an occasional break appeared, but that was rare. This quiet alley was built only for pedestrians, and only the rare small foreign cars would be able to fit, and so no vehicles passed by. He was making stories about the owners of the umbrellas, to while away the time. So much time in his hands, so much time and space. Maybe he shouldn't have left the circus for studying. He was isolated from so much, trying to make up for lost time, trying to catch up, and it was done so easily, so effortlessly, it shocked him.  
  
He didn't like the taste of success without hardship. He had been inured against it for far too long. He needed a challenge, a distraction. Studying wasn't hard for him at all. He didn't have to exert any effort to pass. And because of that he found so much time staring at the whitewashed walls of his apartment. He had found himself falling into a depression these days. A depression brought about by too much time and loneliness, by too much space to contemplate in, by silence. And so much loneliness.  
  
Looking at the pictures was a bad idea. They made him think more, think of how lonely he was, of how much he missed the easy friendships of the circus, the idea of a cheerful family within it, the fellowship with the other Gundam pilots, no matter how strained it sometimes was, even the enemies he had to think hard of strategies to outsmart. The other pilots...that reminds him of...Quatre.  
  
'No! Don't think of him! Don't go on dangerous grounds!' he thought, furious at himself for thinking of the lone person he promised himself not to think of. Of the person he must not think of, because he knew better than to think they can have anything more than friendship, anything more than the friendship of two former allies. After all, he was only a pilot, a circus performer. He was nothing more. And that, that other person, he was the head of a big foundation, and he had family, and he had people who want to take care of him, because he was rich, so rich he can buy his soul a thousand times over.  
  
He remembered quiet days amidst miles of endless desert. A house filled with servants willing to serve their young Master's every wish. And they had kept out of the way, mostly smiling at the Master with his friend. They didn't do anything, no, he couldn't do that to Quatre, but they had often come close to it. Very, very close. Once, when Quatre had recovered his equilibrium after being kissed for a long time, he had emerged with tousled blond hair, and eyes still filled with innocent desire. Those eyes had held his ardor in check, because they were the eyes of a child awakened to sensuality, and for the first time wanted to get everything he could. Those child-like eyes stopped him during moments when he could almost seduce the blond pilot, often when they were pleading him to go on. The thoughts of those secret moments that happened almost as a surprise to them, at the strangest places, the most inopportune moments, sent an electric sense of awareness again of long ago caresses. It took him a few moments to regain his former composure. There was something between them, some strange electricity, a magic he could not cope with. And that was why he had to go.  
  
He had been afraid of what was happening, he had been afraid of hurting his angel. And he was feeling that he was unworthy of his love. One cold night he sneaked out, taking Heavyarms, disappearing into the desert, until he got to this city. Since then he had been hiding, trying to keep his emotions at bay, but Duo found him shopping one day, and discovered his address a few weeks after, probably with Heero's help. Since then Deathscythe's pilot had been bothering him to get together. But he knew he'd find Quatre there, and avoided those at all costs, after forcing a promise from Duo never to reveal his address to Sandrock's pilot.  
  
'Quatre, my angel, I have lost you.'  
  
But how can you lose something that had never been yours?  
  
He was a fool to believe that Quatre was even his. Even when they had been pilots, always there was an air around Quatre that separated him from everyone. That air of sweet innocence amidst all of the madness of war, that air never left him even in the midst of the worst battle. Only when he had turned a bit mad, only then did he seem overtaken. Adorable Quatre. He did not know any other word to describe the other pilot. Why would an angel like Quatre go to him? It was impossible. He'd never like an ex-circus performer. That was beneath him, so utterly below his standards.  
  
The phone rang, and he didn't answer, knowing it must be Cathrine, telling him how it was in the circus, how people missed his act, and how the circus was always open for him whenever he came back. But he was not for it anymore. He can't become a performer after everything. He can't laugh when he was sad. It was too much. Too much to ask of him, now that he was feeling lonely. He thought of the two sides of his mask, why he only wore half of the pair. Because the other was a crying tragedy mask, the mask of another side of him, the side that didn't know when to stop the pain with laughter. He'd better ask Duo how he managed to be so goddamned cheerful in spite of everything.  
  
As if the thought of Duo conspired against him, he heard Duo's voice in the answering machine, after the long beep. "Hi there, Trowa! I had a hard time trying to find your phone number. Hiding, aren't you? Anyway, wanted to invite you to a bash I'm throwing. Everyone's gonna be there. At least, they said they're gonna try. So be there at six, if you can come, okay? You know my address. See ya! Oh, and bring some alcohol!" The message ended, and he stood up to turn the machine off.  
  
Damn, why did the memories have to come flooding back?  
  
Surprising, how a single voice can bring down on an unsuspecting person an avalanche of memories. The searing white flash of an explosion in space, the soft hum of a Gundam's core running to set you in flight amidst the stars. The sweat of battle, the zero gravity of space turning them into globes of water, floating like so many transparent pearls. The rush of adrenaline coming through in fights, as you try to avoid the explosions beside you, as you try to destroy all of your enemies.  
  
And there were other feelings, the feelings of peace, tranquility in readiness between battles. He liked the sense of having a purpose, even when in waiting. A chess match with Wu Fei, but it was nothing, they both knew, they both knew it would be abandoned the second after the call came. Not like now. Not like this stillness. Even in Quatre's place he was waiting for the call, and though he had relaxed completely then, he knew it was not out of negligence, but that he was willing to fly of at a moment's notice. He played the flute then, but now the instrument remained abandoned. An unwanted symbol of times long gone, of waiting, of the call to battle that will not come, anymore.  
  
He didn't know what to do anymore.  
  
He wanted to see his angel once. Just once. But not to be seen, not to be known to be there...as if that was possible. He couldn't go to that party, where there was laughter and booze and jokes. The instant Duo would see him in the background he would shout out his name, and Quatre would turn with a smile of welcome, and then he'd be disappointed. Disappointed because Quatre would have nothing to see but his shadow. He can't let that warm gaze get into him, for then he'd be caught. Again.  
  
But the feel of those soft blond locks, in a simple moment when he had run his fingers through his angel's hair, as that beautiful head lay on his shoulder. To feel those soft locks through his fingers anew. He'd give anything for that. As if the thought had summoned the feeling, the sensations were again there, recaptured from memories. He sighed. The loneliness was getting to him, and he didn't know what to do anymore. More of this sadness and he'd end up in tears.  
  
But...where did this wet spot on his sleeve come from?  
  
He bent forward, letting his loneliness fall in little splashes down his face. The silence of the room did not echo any sobs, but echoed the sadness of a person alone, through his own sacrifice. Sacrifice for the one he loved so completely, so passionately. He knew it had to be love when he first felt the twinges of a strange emotion, because it made him so deliriously happy, yet enveloped his heart with coldness, a sadness because he knew Quatre could never be his.  
  
'Quatre, Quatre, I don't know how I can stay this way, away from you...'  
  
Sometimes, before he had separated himself, he felt a rush of breathlessness, just by seeing Quatre beside him, the thick hair touched by the sun, turning it into a shining halo for his quiet, peaceful face. And then he'd look at him and smile. Then the breathlessness would be turned into something similar to the feeling of a sledgehammer hitting him hard in the chest. He didn't know what to do but to kiss those sweet blue eyes close.  
  
Even the thought of those hidden eyes, with its lowered lashes, sent a flash of pleasure through him, a familiar sensation of floating in space. He knew that in those depths was laughter, a joyfulness of an innocent child. And he felt like bursting into laughter as well whenever he met those eyes. Lost joys, so infinitely precious because they were so far away. Joys that gained because of separation. If--if he ever could get close he knew he'd never be able to walk away without killing himself in the process. Each step would have been a little death for his soul, and then nothing would be left but emptiness. He smiled grimly. He could imagine himself to be a senile old fool, living in solitary confinement in an old age home, and knew he'd never be able to bear it all the more. He'd rather be dead.  
  
But maybe this time, he could watch the party from afar. Maybe Quatre had forgotten him, and had found another. Then they would be able to greet each other like old friends, nothing more. Maybe if he pretended nothing was between them, maybe he could see Quatre again for one last time. Maybe-- maybe--so many maybes, crowding his mind.  
  
Maybe--  
  
The coat was off the chair and the door shut closed.  
  
Walking alone in the rain always gives you a sense of perspective. Usually a lonely walk, because people rarely went out of the rain, but sometimes there were people hurrying, rushing to get to their destinations, and then you'd feel as if you were loafing around. It gives one a sense of not being alone, actually, of people hiding in the warmth of their homes, watching through the brightly lit windows one passes by. There would be people waiting in sheltered places for the rain to stop, and you sense their impersonal glance as you pass by. And you know that at least other people are curious about you walking in the rain, alone, even if it was at the lightest level. And then you raise your head to feel the raindrops on your face.  
  
Raindrops are the tears of heaven for the suffering of the people in Earth. And one can always feel comforted by the cold splatters on one's tear stained face. As if the heavens are crying with you, and it is reassuring. Someone up there cared enough for you to cry with you, and knew all of your troubles. You could sense that the rain was meant to wash away all of the pain, and the burden in you eases a bit.  
  
He did not know why he stopped to stare up at the balcony of Duo's apartment. He just did, and stared at the light coming from the French windows. The sound of a party in full swing could be heard, nearly drowned by the patting of the raindrops, but he could hear laughter. A party he shouldn't be in. He could imagine all of them inside, Duo circulating like a good host, Heero trying not to drink but being forced to by the others. They all knew he couldn't hold his liquor well. Wu fei would be taking a swig of brandy, smiling as the party got to full swing. The girls would all be bubbly and lively, like newly opened champagne. And in the center of this group would be Quatre, courteous to the girls, amiable to the guys. He was wistful. He didn't know how long he was standing there, but he was dimly aware of the steady soaking he was getting, and the coldness around his heart.  
  
The windows opened, and suddenly someone came out to listen to the rain. The hood hid the face in shadowy discretion, but when he bent forward, a blond lock escaped to be viewed in the light of a street lamp.  
  
He did not expect it. He hid in the darkness of shadows.  
  
Quatre.  
  
He had a waterproof windbreaker on, his face shadowed by the hood. He was leaning on the balcony. Trowa felt a strange pang, seeing him all alone, not in the happy mood he had thought Quatre would be in. Something had made him sad, something he didn't know. He wanted to crush the sadness in his own hands, if he could do it.  
  
A glimmer of light, falling with the raindrops.  
  
Tears of an angel mingling with the tears of the skies.  
  
He whispered softly, so softly, it was almost snatched away by the winds. "Trowa..."  
  
And suddenly the sadness seemed to bear down on the sweet angel more. The bent head bent lower, the shoulders were hunched together in an effort to stop sobs from erupting, to restrain the tears falling. But nevertheless Trowa could see them trickling down his face, and the pain in him was doubled. His angel was crying. Crying because of a separation they could not live with, and that they should have accepted by now, but couldn't.  
  
If you saw your angel crying, what would you do?  
  
Wouldn't you go in there to make your angel smile?  
  
He forgot all of his resolutions, the moment he saw those tears fall. All doubts evaporated like dew meeting the rays of the morning sun. Nothing can put in his mind the deep misery they both felt apart except for those drops of sadness, coming from his angel's formerly laughing eyes. Why should he suffer, when he makes his angel suffer in the course of time? He didn't want that! He loved too much to want to hurt Quatre.  
  
The warmth of the room was sending waves of heat through him, drying him, as Duo greeted him cheerfully on. But he heard nothing, keeping his coat on. He said a few words about being sorry for his lateness and for forgetting the alcohol, but all his attention was focused on the French windows. Heero handed him a drink, and he swallowed it mechanically, answering briefly to their questions about how life was for him. He was obviously distracted, and so one by one his interrogators, for that was what he thought they were, left, leaving him alone, except for Duo, who went on chattering. He was now feeling a bit light-headed, from the rain, the sudden warmth, the drinks, and most especially the knowledge that a set of windows was the only thing between them.  
  
Cathrine was there, but she wisely didn't do anything, keeping out of her fellow circus performer's way. She drew everyone skillfully away, by proposing either a game of charades, or some singing using the sound system Duo had. Everyone approved the singing proposal, and they sat before the television, waiting for Heero to turn it on. They had obviously realized what he was here for, and kept away. For that he was grateful. He didn't know if they deliberately chose sentimental songs, but they did, and the ache of being separated from Quatre seemed to intensify. Then he half- caught what Duo was saying.  
  
"--Hadn't been the same laughing boy, Quatre..."  
  
"What?" His eyes went from the windows to Duo. "What were you saying?"  
  
"That whatever happened between you and Quatre, whatever caused you to break away, he'd never laughed, even at my jokes, and that's a bad thing, if you ask me. Both of you have been dying inside for whatever reason I cannot fathom. He had never spoken your name to me for the past months, when he used to mention it all the time. I think you two got separated unwillingly, but what's holding you back from getting together again? If it's because you're both guys, we--ell, I say to hell with it, and let love get its reward. Don't you want to live happily, Trowa? Don't you want to love? What the hell is going on anyway? Why did you go away?"  
  
Trowa closed his eyes, and ran a hand over them, hiding the pain in him. "You could guess why. Quatre's not the type for me."  
  
"If that's what separated you, I say it's bullshit. It doesn't matter, don't you see?" Duo's sincerity entered his mind, and he saw it didn't. All this time he'd been thinking of being away from Quatre, all for the stupidest reason invented by man. That he wasn't worthy. If Quatre was crying because of their separation, if he was suffering from pain, all because of it...Duo's eyes saw that Trowa had seen something in whatever he said. "Now you see. It never mattered to Quatre who you are. It never mattered. So go to that balcony, man, and let me see Quatre smiling again when you come back in, or I'm gonna trample you with Deathscythe." He lightly pushed Trowa towards the balcony, and winked.  
  
He headed for the balcony, then stopped as the cold winds tried to pull him away from his target. He kept on, closing the doors behind him so as not to bring the cold night into the warm gathering. Not that it would have mattered, anyway, since Duo was keeping them happy with his rendition of an old love song, but he thought he caught Duo's meaning that they shouldn't waste any more time, that they were both suffering. The first few lines were aimed at him, obviously.  
  
"Over there, just beneath the moon, there's a man, with a burden to bear..."  
  
The winds may not have succeeded in stopping him, but it succeeded in removing anything in his tongue that could comfort the blond pilot. He just stared at the dejected figure by the railing, so sad he did not even turn at the sound of the open doors, but kept to himself even more. It was like a sharp dagger through him. And Duo's song was not helping either. He was in the chorus, and the words were dagger points to him.  
  
"Who will see the beauty in your life? And who will be there to hear you when you fall? Who will see the madness in your life? And who will be there, to catch you if you fall?"  
  
He had fallen low, after being away from Quatre. And Quatre was the only beautiful thing in it he cared enough to let go. But not now, not anymore. He's not going to let them feel the sadness of being away from each other, he's not going to make them feel the unending echoes of past memories. He was going to do everything right now. But what was he going to say? He had no words, no words to express what he felt, what he wanted to say.  
  
All he could say was, "Cold night out, isn't it?"  
  
The head lifted, as if galvanized by some unseen force. Then it turned, and he faced his blond angel. Though the hood shadowed the upper part of his face, there was a smile on his lips. The smile on his face was more than he expected. Quatre was obviously glad to see him. He smiled in return.  
  
The silence was deafening, but they didn't care. They just wanted to enjoy the presence of each other, after a long, long separation. They just stared at each other, happy, but silent. The cold wind was blowing, and the raindrops had stopped pattering on the floor around them, but still they stayed there. When Quatre shivered a bit, they moved towards each other, and clung together, for warmth. Until the door opened again.  
  
"Hey! Get in, or you'll both catch cold!" Duo's cheeriness broke their deep reverie. Quatre colored, and lowered his eyes, so frank, so open to him. He cursed Duo's wrong entrance. He would have gladly died of pneumonia to get a chance to read Quatre's emotions in his eyes. They had to let Duo lead them inside, where they tried to pretend they were enjoying the party, separate from each other, whether by design or not he did not know. But he was always aware of Quatre's brilliant blue eyes, now blazing with happiness. And he was also aware of the fact that Quatre was watching him, all the time, and he always tried to catch those sapphire eyes, but they were always turned away. Only once did their eyes meet.  
  
Blue eyes so limpid, so alight with laughter anew. Joy because Trowa was here, with him.  
  
Green eyes, filled with questions, whether he should believe this happiness he was feeling.  
  
They both looked away, very much aware of each other. And the people between them drew them farther away, as if deciding that they had to be kept away or they will die out of the sheer joy they were both experiencing.  
  
A glance between two people could be dangerous. Especially when they had not seen each other for a long time, and the separation had been painful. For the pain was a herald for coming maturity, of coming seriousness, when the first sparks of young love become the flames of true love, held in check. If so, this glance can be a spark for the embers burning too low, while actually deepening inside them until ready to ignite and consume their souls with the fiery burning of a long held-back love. That was how that glance was.  
  
At last, the party ended, as one by one they dispersed, with every chime of the clock the hour grew later. Until he was left standing alone with Quatre, standing, having said their thanks and farewells to Duo, who was grinning like a cat that got the cream and ate it too. Then they were there, standing outside the closed door, waiting.  
  
In all of his life, he cannot forget what Quatre did. He swore he'd remember it even when he was old and infirm, when nothing but the sunset of life was facing him.  
  
It was cold, and they both wore coats. But his was the long trench coat variety, while Quatre's windbreaker was hardly enough. Alone, the two of them, Quatre had turned to him with a smile, and then rested his head on the lapel of his coat. Just that, and two fists gripping those same lapels, until he thought they'd tear off. His arms had automatically went around the young man, and he came closer to the warmth he offered, a haven of love. He knew then that Quatre didn't care what or who he was, or where he was from, as long as they loved each other. Only then did he allow himself to touch those beautiful locks within his reach, and Quatre smiled up at him. Smiled, with the brilliance of the morning sky in his eyes.  
  
Who else could have seen how much they loved each other?  
  
Then he had released the lapels, brushing it lightly, and he extended his hand.  
  
Wordlessly, Trowa took it.  
  
Then they leaned towards each other, kissing softly, knowing full well they needed no words between them. That words would never be able to express what they felt for each other. They were not going to pretend they could live with each other anymore, for they have tried that. And they knew there was going to be hard times, but they didn't care, as long as they were together.  
  
They moved away from each other, then with one hand held in another, they walked.  
  
Walked to the quiet night.  
  
That was all.  
  
______________________________  
  
Sometimes, it is surprising how Les Miserables convinced me to write this.  
  
It must be Cosette's glance to Marius.  
  
Whatever. This one shot deal's starting to sound fun. ^_^ 


End file.
